


The Freelancer

by Clumsy_Hedgehogs



Category: The Freelancer - Fandom
Genre: Future, Gen, Outer Space, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 15:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19541599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clumsy_Hedgehogs/pseuds/Clumsy_Hedgehogs
Summary: Mike was a normal 21 year old man, until he was offered a job as a crew member on the spaceship The Freelancer. With interstellar travel, a crew of mixed intelligent species, and a sassy A.I. with a mind out-of-control, what could possibly go wrong?





	1. Prologue

[COMMUNICATION; BRADBURY, MONIQUE; 33232733]

[BRADBURY] Code, come in. It's an emergency.

[CODE] Monique? Your wardrobe malfunction is not an emergency.

[BRADBURY] Listen, something went wrong with pod number two two three. We're landed four hundred off target. We've landed on [REDACTED], and there's creatures here. More horrifying than anything I've ever seen.

[CODE] Even Michael?

[BRADBURY] Code I'm serious. We're holed up in a cave, if they find us-

[LOUD CRASH, SCREAMING]

[UNKNOWN WHISPERS INTO COMM]

[BRADBURY] Goodbye, Code.

[CODE] Bradbury? Monique? Come in.

[CODE] Notifying ESR. Unit dispatched to location.


	2. Passenger Entry

[CREW ENTRY; MORAN, MICHAEL; 869455464]

[MORAN] Hi, I'm Mike. I like long walks on the beach, dogs, and I'm always a slut for-

[CODE] Michael, this is your crew file recording, not a Tinder profile.

[MORAN] Dammit, Code, let me live!

[CODE] Michael, that is certainly not appropriate language for an adult crew member on the Freelancer. Just give them your full name, passenger ID, origin planet, birth date, and that's all.

[MORAN] Okay, fine. I'm Michael Moran, from planet Terra, or Earth. My passenger ID is 869455464, and my date of birth is... today, actually, July first, the year two thousand one hundred sixty nine.

[CODE] Thank you, Michael. Now picture this, I am a gleaming metal machine, and you are a meat bag full of bones. I am obviously superior, and demand you re-

[MORAN] Ugh, shut up, and stop turning my AC down to below freezing!

[DISCONNECTED]


	3. The 'Personal Space' Concept... In Space

I woke up cold, and alone in a sad, dark roo- wait no, that's just where I sleep on the Freelancer. But why is it so goddamn cold? My brain was still foggy from sleep, when the thought hit me like my Hispanic Grandmother's chancla. Code. The asshole turned my AC down to below freezing, probably. I jumped out of my bed aggressively, resulting in a sudden wave of regret as I'd forgotten to wear a parka to bed.

"Code, turn the heater up to sixty eight."

"Sure Michael, but consider that I am a gleaming machine of wires and metal, here forever, and you will soon be reduced to nothing but dust-"

"Yeah yeah, stop monologuing and just turn on the damn heater," I scowled at the AI's 'sight' camera, when the heater clicked on. I settled back into bed for a goodnight's rest, still cold, but feeling a little warmer now.

I woke up again, but this time it was finally a decent hour. I yawned and stretched, blinking sleepiness from my eyes when I realized that Fleet Commander Bialar was standing inches away from my face. I started, my adrenaline already pumping at seven in the morning, and whacked my hand on the small table next to my bed.

"Ah, sorry Michael. I know how much you humans despise being taken out of your charging period. I tried not to wake you, but alas, I have failed."

"Commander, with all due respect, I would've been fine had I been given my personal space," I replied, my voice scratchy from disuse. The look on the Commander's face was priceless.

"Personal space?"

"Mhm, it's a thing humans like to have, and a sort of... unspoken rule I suppose. Unless someone has invited you into their personal space, you should remain a safe distance away."

"So it's similar to the NDSP?"

"Uh, I guess so?"

"Many apologies, then Michael, as I want you to be as comfortable as I on this beautiful ship."

"Gee, thanks. Anyway, could I maybe get some breakfast before my daily assignment?" I asked. Bialar nodded.

"I recall that breakfast was one of your three refueling points in the day, and give you full permission to go to the cafeteria before you begin your assignment." I nodded, and thanked the Commander. She dismissed herself, practically floating out on her six tentacle legs.

"Code, notify Landsyr that I'm on my way," I commanded the AI as I pulled on my uniform, the magnetised pieces of the armor clicking in place.

"Sure, maybe when you figure out how to contain my fantastical powers." My heater clicked off. I sighed, grabbed my bag, and walked out.

I found the cafeteria easily, which was surprising, because I had an absolutely awful sense of direction. Ghillaan was serving the Terran 'breakfast' food of hotdogs today. Fine by me, as long as I wasn't eating Yuspertian Fried Minkflies. I mean, those buggers are the size of a small dog! Disgusting. I got my 'breakfast' and looked for Landsyr. He wasn't hard to spot, considering he was a six-and-a-half foot tall Loper, with legs the size of a small stool, and smooth toeless feet around the size of a small garbage can.

I walked over and sat with him, studying his odd human-but-not-quite-human face. He looked over and waved.

"Heya Mikey! You're early, huh?"

"Yeah, Commander Bialar woke me up," I said, sitting down. The Loper nodded, and studied his plate of meat and greens, from his native planet Thryet.

"I hate these more than Dahlia hates you," he said, picking some odd, purple bean thing off his plate.

"Uh... thanks?" Landsyr nodded, and I frowned at my hotdog. I shrugged and chowed down, attempting to accustom myself to the strangeness of lunch for breakfast. My Comm buzzed in my pocket, which was concerning because Landsyr was my only friend, and he was right here. I picked it up to see what was wrong, and nearly cried when I saw the ID flash up on the screen.

Incoming Call

MONIQUE BRADBURY

33232733

I was thrilled. Monique had been missing for weeks! She was finally calling me, probably to apologize for not responding. I picked up the Comm, holding up a finger to silence Landsyr.

"Hello?"

"Michael Moran," the voice a raspy drawl. I almost crapped myself just hearing it, "you're next." The line dropped. I let go of my Comm, and it broke as it hit the floor.

"Mikey? You okay?"

"I need to- I need to talk to, um, the- the place! God what's it called? They specialize in missing persons cases?"

"Emergency Search and Rescue?"

"Yes! Hang on, sorry Landsyr, but I gotta go!" I got up and sprinted the hell out of that cafeteria, running as fast as I could to get to ESR before the call location pinpoint was lost. Monique was one of my best friends, and I wanted her back on the Freelancer more than anything.

**Author's Note:**

> So, maybe not the best idea to pick up a call from your friend who's been missing for weeks. I haven't slept since I took that call, and it's been days.


End file.
